


Solving problems - Whirl style

by Insecuriosity



Series: Misc. ideas and story blurbs [5]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Empurata, Genital Mutilation, Hiding Medical Issues, Masturbation, Medical problem, Other, Self-Harm, Self-Service, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:38:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3226073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insecuriosity/pseuds/Insecuriosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whirl has a one solution, and it fixes all his problems. But some problems just can't be fixed by shooting at them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solving problems - Whirl style

It was the middle of the night-cycle. More than half of the crew was in deep recharge, and the ones that weren't helm-deep in lala-land were dozing away at the control panels. 

Whirl thought that whoever had thought up the sychronised recharge cycles was a complete glitchhead who had no concept of practicality. Of course, mechs could override automatic system responses, but it came at the cost of being as alert and combat ready as Ring. Whirl rarely had trouble falling into recharge. Just lie down, offline optic and BOOM! Recharge. 

But then there were those off-cycles, where his systems were conveniently ignoring his overrides and waking him up in the middle of his recharge cycle. Mostly when his recharge cycle was interrupted, it was because Brainstorm blew something up, or someone went on a rampage, or there was an attack. Whirl knew that he gotten woken up by his own systems this time, because they were burning. 

It must have been something in his memory purge, or some old system update or whatever, but Whirl had been brought out of recharge by his own interface components. 

“Fffrag!” Whirl propped himself up on his elbows, and spread his legs. His panels slid aside haltingly, and his spike came jutting out like it had all the right in the world to pressurise in the middle of Whirl's recharge. Whirl let himself fall back against his berth, and he glared at the ceiling. Of all the things to wake him from recharge, of all the things, it just had to be the one problem he couldn't fix by shooting at it. 

Decepticons? Shoot 'em. People talking slag? Shoot 'em. Dispenser not dispensing? Shoot it. Someone asking for directions? Shoot at something in the distance. Whirl was pretty happy with his level of problem solving. Bots like Ultra Magnus just couldn't appreciate practicality. 

Whirl could handle anything. Bombs, Decepticons, aliens, alien Decepticons, Decepticon bombs... Whirl was the wild-card – he could do everything he wanted to! Except things that required dexterity and soft touch. Like self-servicing.

Whirl swung his legs off the berth, and stoically ignored the cold edge of metal pressing against his exposed valve. His spike was still standing up straight, and the first annoying tinges of 'deal with me now, make me feel good now, put me in something warm' were starting to trickle into his processor.  
Whirl lifted his arms, and stared at his claws. He futilely reached down, and tried to close his right claws around his spike. The erect length stood proudly in the gap between his claws, completely untouched. He dropped his claw with a harsh vent. Just as always, self service was not an option.

Whirl looked around his quarters, his optic scanning along his guns in the futile hope that maybe this time he'd get a stroke of genius and find a way to turn a fusion-blaster into a self-service device. 

Nope. Still nothing. 

He could wait. Technically. Just a few cycles of waiting during which his interface equipment would do its best to drive him completely nuts. Yea- no way. 

Option three had his personal preference, but it was also the only option that was near impossible.  
The last time Whirl had tried to seduce someone, the mech had ended up crying even as he'd opened his panels, and that had killed the mood so badly that Whirl's spike had actually retracted. That hadn't really been the plan, but hey! Whatever worked!

Ultra Magnus had still lectured him halfway into an early grave and put him the brig, so Whirl had scrapped 'seduction of crewmembers' off his list of options pretty quickly.

Whirl wriggled on the berth, waving his aching spike back and forth in frictionless air. The coding to make it retract was unresponsive, and Whirl grumbled a curse. The mech that had decided that interface equipment required a megavornly mandatory check-up was a sadistic fragger. He poked a claw at his spike, and winced at the burning ache for more that zinged through his lines. 

Well. He'd just have to push it back in manually then. Whirl offlined his optic, and placed his ungainly claws over his spike. He took a deep invent, and started to push the spike back into its housing. Sensors lit up fiercely, and Whirl's legs clamped together in a spasm of pain. Inner systems strained, gears ground, error messages piled up, lubricating-tubes splurted useless lubricant, and his spike was going down. 

Whirl was no stranger to pain, but he still had to take his vocaliser offline as he forced the unwilling equipment downwards. The sadistic slagger that had invented the working mechanics of spikes was going to get sent to the Pit as soon as Whirl found him.

Whirl's HUD was displaying damage reports on his interface equipment, and Whirl twitched. Damage reports – for trying to fit something into its designated area! Whirl pushed the thoughts away and dismissed the warnings. It was only a few more inches-

His claws slipped, and he howled when the spike shot up against the sharper edge of his claw. Whirl's visual feed glitched for a second, and his frame jerked with pain. The hot wet feeling of spilled energon trailed down his spike, and Whirl's claws twitched. 

A few moments of pain passed, and finally Whirl's visual feed was back to normal. Whirl was fuming, and his trigger-finger was jerking uncontrollably. His spike had a mind of its own by this point. There was nothing as much a turnoff as almost dissecting your own spike when trying to stuff it back into its housing- and yet the pit-damned thing was STILL STANDING UP. 

_Interface array damaged – seek medical attention immediately._  
_Spike housing compromised - Spike controls locked._  
_Interface array maintenance overdue – seek medical assistance._

Maintenance! Maintenace-?! So called 'maintenance' was what had gotten him into this situation to begin with!  
“You unwielding piece of scrap-” He snarled at his equipment and stood up from the berth. The wound on his spike was painful, but the unrelenting ache for an overload was still impossible to ignore. 

A loud pounding came from his right wall, and a disgruntled mech snarled at him through the metal. “Whirl, I swear to Primus, if I hear one more thing from you I'm gonna sic Ultra Magnus on you!” 

“Shut up or I'll give Ultra Magnus an ACTUAL reason to show up!” Whirl shot back, and he kicked the wall for good measure. The mech on the other end remained quiet, and Whirl hissed out a string of colourful curses. Small drops of energon were falling from the cut in his spike, and pooling on the ground between his feet. 

He could go to the medbay. Sure he could, where'd he'd then have to explain that he hadn't managed to get an overload since leaving the Wreckers, and that the dangerous, powerful, frightening Whirl couldn't even beat himself off.  
Whirl hated it when people knew his supposed 'vulnerabilities'. People that thought they knew him tended to go soft-opticed, and try to be nicer to him. 

Heck, even Ratchet might try and help - giving him some stupid-aft interface toy, so as to say; yea, Cybertronians are pretty open about interfacing for fun and all that, but since you can't even get a friend to beat you off, you'll have to do with this thing.

No. No way in the Pit. 

Whirl narrowed his optic, and turned around to kneel before his berth. He dug his claws into the surface, and rested his tip of spike against the side. One vent, two, and then he thrust forward with as much force as he could. 

GGRK – CRUANCGHK

The room was quiet, and it was hard to tell if it was because of his audials glitching or not. Whirl vented with a shudder. There was a lot more energon on the floor now. His claws had put punctures in the surface of his berth and his knees were rattling slightly against the floor.  
Something had snapped inside, but when Whirl pulled his hips back, his spike obediently stayed down. It smarted like ten broken struts, and the warnings of 'interface component damaged' were stacking up in his queue, but the dumb thing was finally retracted! Whirl peeled his claws loose from his berth, and forced his interface panel shut with an override. His valve had stopped lubricating, and Whirl was happy that at least half of his interface components knew how to take a hint. 

He stood up, and tried to ignore the raging pain under his panel. He let himself fall onto his berth, and his legs spread open on autopilot to try and alleviate the pain.  
Whirl dimmed his optic, and let his recharge protocols initiate. He'd had plenty of practice recharging through pain and it was far easier to pretend that someone had kicked him in a vulnerable place than it was to lie in his berth aching for an overload he wouldn't ever be getting.

**Author's Note:**

> I just.... Whirl shoving his spike back into the housing was an image I had, so here.


End file.
